


What more could be done

by PickUpUrPh0ne



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Abuse, F/M, Hospitals, Human Trafficking, Hurt Jughead Jones, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2020-07-09 18:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19892341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PickUpUrPh0ne/pseuds/PickUpUrPh0ne
Summary: When FP Jones II finds out the Ghoulies don’t just deal in drugs but they also dealt in human trafficking he feels deeply sick. 2x21 The Ghoulies want more than a beat down and a pound of flesh. Poor Jughead.





	1. Chapter 1

When FP Jones II finds out the Ghoulies don’t just deal in drugs but they also dealt in human trafficking he feels deeply sick. He drinks his first drop of alcohol since his ‘retirement party’ that Jughead and Betty threw him. Fuck, he goes on a three day bender. His last one was right after the sheriff brought his boy in for Jason Blossom’s murder. 

It’s Fred Andrews who finds him passed out in the bungalow FP has been calling home. 

“FP? Where have you been? No one has heard from you in days! How did the lead pan out?” Fred shouted, wandering from the sitting room over to the bedrooms. When he found that both bedrooms were empty he finally found FP laying in the tub. Handle of Wild Turkey lay empty on the floor. Beer bottles were scattered around the room

FP’s eyes were bloodshot and he hiccuped miserably. His head rolled backwards and his eyes were pinned to the ceiling. 

“The lead panned out Freddy,” FP smiled sarcastically, “Their other stream of income? It’s a money maker alright.” His face twitched with disgust.

“They’re fucking trafficking kids. THOSE FUCKS ARE SELLING KIDS! MY FUCKING BOY!” furying was burning through each word. FP threw an empty beer bottle up at the tiled wall and glass rained down. 

“Oh god…” Fred was speechless. 

It had been a little bit over five months since the riots that broke out across town. All these months since Jughead sacrificed himself for the Serpents, for the Southside, for his family. No one had heard from him since that last phone call to Betty. On that night Betty relayed the contents of call to FP and FP rushed across town to find his son. But he was too late. The Ghoulies’ compound was quiet and abandoned. 

He was so afraid that he would find his boy there in a pool of blood. Neck snapped. Face bashed in. Gone. 

It had been a truly unnerving scene to find absolutely nothing. 

The Serpents and all of Jughead’s friends spent weeks scouring old Ghoulie hideouts across the county. FP called in all of his old favors, Betty dropped all of her extracurriculars to search, and Archie even managed to get the Bulldogs in on combing the woods. But nothing more turned up. 

The police were skeptical that there was even a kidnapping. “A boy like Jughead,” the state police explained, “A boy like that could have just skipped town. He’ll be found when he wants to.” They were completely unable to devote serious resources to the case and unhelpfully explained that after the first 48 hours the likelihood of finding a missing person fell to practically zero.

The rally cry weakened and momentum fell apart. The search practically stuttered to a stop. It was just FP and Jug’s old crew on the lookout these days. FP hadn’t faltered. He found time to go to AA, to clean himself up, and to work day in and day out as Fred’s foreman. If he was going to bring Jughead home then he was gonna do it right.

He held onto the belief that he needed to pull himself together he could bring his boy home. Home for real. FP saved and rented a bungalow on the Northside. Gladys be damned. He and his boy could be their own family. JB, too.

Gladys sent money when she could but never showed her face. Police investigated her home to see if he was crashing there by some miracle. But it wasn’t the case. FP and JB shared tearful phone calls every few months. Over many months conversations became stilted with lack of new evidence. 

FP held it all together. He was following a lead in Buffalo. A Ghoulie defector had just joined the Scorpions out in Buffalo. Scorpions and Serpents had an old agreement. Not enemies but still not friends. Speaking with their new member didn’t come without negotiations but it was far easier than trying to make his way on Ghoulie turf.

It was that meeting where FP learned about the trafficking. Taking people out of state and then shipping them off to the highest bidder. There had been no specification about a boy with a serpent tattoo, dark hair, and blue eyes. But FP knew the truth in his gut and it was way out of his league. 

Once he returned home he drowned himself in alcohol and self pity for 72 hours until Freddy Andrews was back at his side and pulling him together. 

He went back to AA meeting. Back to the construction sites. Back to keeping his ear on the ground. Kept paying rent on the two bedroom home. 

FP considered selling his soul to get his footing in the dark trade that had stolen his son away from him. That might be the fastest way to his son. The thought never progressed further because it always led him straight to vomiting the bathroom. The Serpents dabbled in hard drugs when times got especially tough but this was more disgusting than they would tolerate.

He doesn’t tell Toni. He doesn’t tell Betty. He doesn’t tell Archie. Or Sweet Pea or Veronica or anyone else. Fred knows. And that’s it. The kids don’t need to know, he decides. He doesn’t want to destroy their innocence in that way. Or tempt them to go looking in that world. 

Betty slowly picks back up her extracurriculars. But not another boy. She goes to Pop’s alone, once a week at first, to sit in Jug’s booth and to order herself his favorite. Cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake. After bit she’s down to once a month. A solemn meal to fortify her commitment to solving this mystery. 

Nothing is heard for another three months or so. Betty finds nothing new, the young Serpents find nothing new, FP and Fred don’t find anything. The well of tears and grief are deeper than the small community realized. 

But after three months FP gets a call from the State Police. 

“This is a message for Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Second. His presence is needed down at the Station in Poughkeepsie as soon as possible. This is in regards to the missing persons report filed for your son with the New York State Police. If he does not respond to this message local PD may be tasked with contacting him.”

FP’s heart drops out of his body. Logically he knew it could mean many different things. All incredibly nuanced. But his heart was wildly fluctuating between needing him to ID the body or his boy delivered whole and healthy ready to come back home. 

“Hey Fred, I think I’m going to need some time off. I just got a call from State Police something….something has happened,” He stuttered, “I don’t know what yet but it feels big. Give me a call when you’ve got the chance. I’m heading out of town to their station after group tonight.” 

Later that evening FP left his AA meeting ready vibrating with stress and anxiety. The harsh coldness of the upstate winter wasn’t enough to still him. He nearly blew past Fred standing out by the doorway. 

“Hey there!” Fred shouted. He finally caught his friend’s attention. Fred gave him a shy smile and grabbed FP’s shoulder.

“I got your message. I’m coming with you. You don’t want to do this alone.” Fred’s smile dissolved into a firm grimace. FP’s forehead knitted together and he closed his eyes. Ready to refuse the support.

“I’ve got Greg as the lead on the site and Archie is going to look after Vegas. I’m not leaving you to do this alone,” he reaffirmed. 

The two old friends sat together silently as they drove down to the station, fortifying themselves for what was to come. 

It was early morning by the time they arrived. The sun was just peaking over the horizon and there was a crisp layer of ice frozen over the ground. Neither man could tell if it was a bad omen about what was to come. 

The Police Station was abuzz despite the early hour. The two made their way to the reception desk. Their IDs are checked and then they’re sent to a waiting area. The pair helped themselves to black coffee while they waited to meet with Officer Hunt. 

Officer Hunt was a woman of average height, long neat braids, and tired eyes. When she greeted the two men there was a stillness to the air. They shook her hand and made their introductions. She confirmed that Mr. Andrews was welcome to the meeting. The trio made their way over to a small conference room.

Despite the sleepless night FP’s felt incredibly focused. He felt grateful to have Fred at his side.

“I apologize deeply for the slow progress with this case,” she began carefully, “The department is tracking these things internally and often they are apart of a larger issue, unfortunately.” It was all boilerplate language. 

“Okay but what did you call me down here for?” FP was doing his best to keep his rage and fear locked up.

“Well,” She shot him a sad smile, “I think we’ve found your son Mr. Jones.” A strangled sob escaped his lips. Unable to form a sentence himself Officer Hunt continued,

“Local police were following up on an Amber alert for a young female out in Detroit when the vehicle was apprehended. A young male was found bound and sedated in the vehicle. Once he came to, well, the report said he was struggling significantly to identify himself in a meaningful way. Eventually we were able to use his fingerprints to make a match.” She report robotically.

FP was openly sobbing while his hand was held by Fred. His eyes were no dryer. 

Through the tears Fred asks, “So he’s alive? And safe now.”

“Yes.” She responds proudly, “I have some pictures from which I need to you to confirm his identity.” FP picked his head up eager to see proof of his boy, something to anchor him until they reunited for real.

The photograph was clearly not meant to be blown up to a full sheet of copier paper so it was blurry. But it was clear enough to make the confirmation. His eyes were closed, resting and peaceful, but stress and starvation were clear across his face. It was hard to tell but it looked like there was a ring of black bruising on his throat. 

With glassy eyes and a hand over his heart, FP told her, “That’s my boy. That really is my baby boy.”

“He’s being cared for a secured facility in Michigan specializing in prioritizing the safety of victims of this kind of crime. My report here says he’s being treated for malnutrition, dehydration, several infected abrasions, and an aggravated stress fracture in his left femur. I know they took some blood work but I don’t have the results right now” Fred and FP hung onto every single one of her words.

“I’m very sorry to report this but there is evidence of sexual abuse,” This part of her job was the hardest, “There’s the worst of it. There’s anal scarring. As well as tattooing that is crude and what we know to be associated with some human trafficking groups. I haven’t been informed if there is an update on any STDs or HIV. But what matters the most now is that he is safe, You can go see him, hug him, and bring him home.”

~

Breaking the news to the community didn’t feel like a win. No one in the room seemed especially optimistic about being asked to join together after FP and Fred’s trip. Gathered together in Fred’s living were Archie, Betty, Veronica, Sweet Pea, Toni, Fangs, Kevin, and a handful of others. If it had been four months earlier Alice may have joined the group, if only to break the news on the Register. 

“He’s coming home,” FP started, “but not the same as he left.” He was struggling to confront the delicate situation himself. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to communicate it with anyone else. 

The vague phrasing was didn’t help the mood in the room. Veronica and some of the Serpents assumed the worst immediately and but the rest took it literally. 

“Well...he’s alive. I’m sorry. He’s alive. Yes,” frustrated, FP tried to find his words. 

“So we’ll see him soon? Is he okay?” Betty spoke up quickly. 

“He’s not okay yet. Jughead is at a hospital a couple states over. Being cared after for now. We’re going to go and try to bring him home if he’s ready.” FP said heartfully.

“What happened to him?” Archie demanded. 

FP wasn’t sure how to tell the room the condition of his son’s imprisonment or if he should at all. Fred saw his friend struggle and interceeded.

“Well, son. We don’t entirely know for sure yet. But what we do know if that something terrible. He’s been a victim of trafficking. He’ll need our support in a new way now. He’s a survivor. He always has been.” Fred offered.

~

The trip out to suburban Michigan was going to be a difficult one. A social worker counseled that flying Jughead home may be overwhelming and unsafe to pursue. Though driving him back half way across the country would present its own challenges but they would have more overall control. It would all depend on how extensive the trauma Jughead was facing now.

They have to spend a little bit more time preparing Archie. That was hard for Fred. Archie had a general sense of what was a stake but hadn’t made the connection between the concept and his best friend, who was whole and human and kind. And until relatively recently a constant in his life.

FP, Fred, and Archie all packed their suitcases for the trip. Then a fourth one full of fresh clothes and familiar items for Jughead. The trip could be made in one long 12 hours ride but the group was uncertain about how long they would be in the area. 

Archie spent the car ride (the portion he was awake for) trying to distract the pair with meaningless stories, lighthearted dreams he had recently, and some tedious music theory. It was helpful. Fred felt incredibly blessed by his son. His son who wore his heart on his sleeve and gave his full self to his ambitions. Fred knew his son was going to grow into an incredible man. 

FP was never distracted in the car, not even for a second. But Archie’s stories helped fuel the fires of hope. Jughead would come home and eventually would rambling away whatever caught his attention too. This was all still possible because his boy was alive. Recovery may be hard but everyday would be a new opportunity. 

The trip ended at 10:00pm local time. Six hours too late for new visitor registration. Booking a cheap local motel for the night FP, Fred, and Archie ended their day. Archie quickly looked up local AA groups for FP, passed on the information, and went to bed. 

~

The next day was strange. Continental breakfast started at 6:00am. FP and Fred has finished their bowls of off-brand cereal by 6:20. At 7:00am Archie wandered downstairs looking as if he barely slept. He ate his half-stale breakfast. And they waited in the lobby until 8:15am so they could arrive at the hospital at 8:30 precisely. 

The hospital looked more like an office building than FP thought was possible. Registration was impersonal and demanding. The woman at the front desk demanded that each of them complete the confidentiality agreements and hand over their IDs for scanning. Once all their information was scanned and accepted the group was assured into a second waiting room. The men and Jughead’s bag were searched by security. The whole place was cold and smelled sterile. The fluorescent lights paired with the absence of windows gave the impression that was late into the night of a long day. 

Finally the doors of the waiting room were opened.

“Forsythe Jones II!” A voice called unnecessarily loud. He got up closely followed by Fred and Archie. Hands were shook and man introduced himself as Eric Patel, a nurse in the facility.  
“Nice to meet you all. I’m glad you’re all here but in my experience it is best not to come in all at once. Why don’t we start with Dad then bring you two in?” 

Archie was visibly disappointed and scared by the implication that he would disturb his friend somehow. 

Eric continued, “if you all could just drop your cellphones in a locker we can continue.” He gestured at a panel of faded green lockers with small keys. 

“I’ll see you two in a moment, I guess.” FP uttered and followed Eric out the room alone.

“Alright, we just had our shift change so your son should be awake now and you should be able to speak with his doctor shortly. You know he’s looking forward to seeing you and his friends which is a great sign for his recovery. I’ll let you get in there yourself for a moment.” And with that they were outside Jughead’s door. 

Not wasting anymore time FP took a deep breath and pushed through the door into the room.

There he was. His son was laying there in bed. Alive. Watching some motherfucking television.

The change were obvious. Jughead had been a bit thin since he hit his growth spurt but he was truly emaciated now. The bags under his eyes were heavy. His right eye was entirely red like he was recovering from a severe shiner. The shadow around his neck followed the pattern hands clasped too tightly around his throat. The sight tore FP into a thousand shreds then built him back up again more whole than he had been in months. 

But Jughead smiled at his Dad. 

FP gathered him up in his arms and immediately tears were falling from FP’s eyes. 

FP kissed his son’s head and muttered over and over again, “I love you son. I love you so much.”

Jughead breaks down in his arms. He’s been out for two weeks. But every question, every prod, poke and examination has been another invasion. But in his father’s arms again he was finally safe. Safe enough to crumbled to pieces. And he sobs. FP holds his son together as well as he knows how.

After twenty minutes of crying and rocking there’s a gentle knock on the door. Jughead pulls away wiping snot and tears from his face.

“Hi Jughead. Good to see you again,” She says gently then turns to FP, “Hello, I’m Dr. Okafor and I’m your son’s attending physician. There’s a couple things we need to go over together. I’ve been through most of it with Jughead already but..”

FP anxiously cut her off, “Been through it with him already? What? Why…”

“We wanted his informed consent and his involved in his own care. Isn’t that right, bud?” Dr. Okafor smiled confidently at Jughead.

“Oh, okay,” FP grisled.

“As I saw saying, would you like to bring Jughead’s other dad in for this part?” Dr. Okar asks.

“Oh, he’s just a friend, I mean...just an old friend. Just us is fine.” Jughead slightly laughed at his father’s stuttered response. But then fell again when the Dr. started speaking again.

“Alright then, starting with the fracture in the right femur. It seems like initial it was fairly minor but continued stress has exacerbated the issue. We’re going to need to see a lot of bed rest for that,” She began.

FP stared at his boy not understanding how this was just the beginning. Jughead dodged eye contact with his father. 

Continuing, “We’ve been fighting the dehydration and malnutrition pretty well recently so we need to keep that up. I think we can all agree it would be best if Jughead gained some weight in the next few months. Moving on the lacerations to the back and lower body are mostly healed but we’ll be applying ointment to try to reduce the scarring.” She paused a moment and gave a glance over the boy sitting uncomfortably in the bed. 

“We’re going through a round of antibiotics to combat chlamydia,” 

Jughead threaded a hand through his hair and gripped tightly at the shame and anxiety of the situation. Staring straight down his breathing became harsh.

“Hey Jughead,” The doctor paused, “I can see you look uncomfortable. We can step out and have this conversation all together again later. How does that sound?”

“Fine,” he stuttered. 

“Alright, Mr. Jones let’s step outside to finish this conversation.” She lead FP from the hospital room into the hall.

“I’m really glad you’re here Mr. Jones. We’re really glad Jughead is here. Very few children are recovered from these kinds of situations. We’re doing the best we can help him heal physically from the ordeal. But emotionally he’s got a long way to go and is going to need significant support. And professional support. We’ve noticed him dissociating and hardly sleeping. He’s at risk for self harm and getting pulled back into trafficking.”

FP was overwhelmed and what felt like the millionth time recently was at a loss for words. “I’ve got a steady job and a good home. I’m going to do what I can, ma’am.”

~

Not eager to leave his son alone for long, FP returned back to Jughead’s room.

“Hey, uh Dad, there’s some things I think you need to know.” Jughead said, wringing his hands in his lap.

“I don’t know if it’s such a good idea to bring me home. I mean...this was my fault,” Jughead started.

“No, no, Jug! I’ve got everything ready for you. I’ve got this new place near Fred’s for you! Two bedrooms!” FP interjected happily and desperate to bring his son back to Riverdale.

“No, it’s not that Dad. It’s just that…,” sparing a glance out of the window, “I’m..don’t you have any idea what I’ve been fucking doing” he whispered angrily, “It’s...I don’t belong and it isn’t right for me to try to go back there.”

“No Jughead. It’s your home and no matter what you will be welcome.” FP reasserted.

“I don’t know…” he trailed. For months Jughead had held onto the singular hope of coming home. And now that it was right in front of him finally the idea repulsed him

“We need you to come home, bub. Well anyway, I brought you this,” FP tossed a threadbare gray knit beanie into Jughead’s lap. FP expected a thank you or at least a smile from his son but Jughead just stared at it like it might sting him. Jughead shook his head side to side gently. 

“I can’t wear that,” Jughead stated finally. Before FP could respond Jughead pulled the first button on the hospital gown collar undone. Then a second and a third. Pulling away a section of the cloth revealing a dark tattoo. The name “Ray” was scrawled across his pectoral in an elaborate script with a large crown hanging hanging on off the “R”. 

“Fuck,” FP swore quietly. Jughead flinched and quickly buttoned the gown up. 

“It wasn’t my decision. I just...I don’t want to wear it anymore. Don’t make me. Please,” FP’s eyes were tearful and guilt was eating away at him inside. He nodded jerkily in agreement.

“I love you, son. No matter what,” FP asserted before the two fell into silence. 

~


	2. Long Way Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy. I've been practicing writing a lot since I post the first chapter and I hope it shows. Always looking for constructive criticism and support.

Jughead Jones was in pain. In truth, he mourned his life over and over again recently and he didn’t know where that left him.

The decision to hand himself over to the Ghoulies was something he was proud of at the time. Even if they killed him that night in the cold dirt it would be like a crown jewel on his stupid life. He mourned not being able to take Betty to prom, never going on a road trip with Archie, and never graduating High School with the other young Serpents, who had all the cards stacked up against them like he did. 

He hadn’t considered that the Ghoulies had more in store than a rumble 

Later, he mourned his Serpent tattoo that was ripped from his arm and his last shred of innocence and dignity. 

Then he mourned his freedom and his death that remained just out of his grasp. At one point Jughead wonder if that made him immortal. The fact that he wasn’t going to die on his terms or any time soon. Wasn’t life supposed to be fragile, he wondered. It was too dizzying being shuffled from motels rooms, truck stops and bar basements. Any kind of thoughts didn’t stay caught up in his head for long. 

He mourned his death then subsequently his life. Lying in this hospital bed was more unsteadying than when they pushed him out of a moving car. How was he supposed to live again? 

He used to want to tell stories that might never be heard, to uncover the darkness and bring it into the light. He’d lived darkness. He just wanted to leave it there. He wanted to leave himself in darkness. 

FP seemed to be determined to drag him back into the light. That light that would blind him from reality, Jughead assumed. 

Jughead used to want to know if Riverdale was a town of good or evil. That binary didn’t seem to apply anymore. Had it ever?

A social worker had shoved a notebook in his hands at one point. She mentioned it would help to write down his feelings and experiences. For so long he wanted to be able to write and write and write. He felt like he probably had to seize this opportunity but he just couldn’t bother to bring himself to do it. 

Seeing Archie again had been terrifying. Jughead couldn’t help but wonder if it was obvious how broken he’d become to Archie. This was more than the baggage of a kid from the wrong side of the tracks. At one point in life these two had known each other through and through. Seeing Archie again had nearly provoked another panic attack. He wanted to scream at him and keep him away. Archie treated the whole situation like Jughead had just been on a long trip out of town and not forced to fuck and tortured. His innocence was a relief. If Archie could pretend then Jughead would too.

The doctors had him sitting in front of a therapist multiple times a week and in group therapy once a week. All he could tell was that he was the lucky ones. It didn’t seem right to complain. If he was going to go back to Riverdale, Jughead felt like he would need to leave this all behind. Hard stop.

He spent so long being treated like a piece of meat, it was hard to handle the onslaught of considerate questions from the staff and his family. It was a whole week more full of this before he was cleared for discharge. Then even once he was cleared a whole extra day was spent planning his life back in Riverdale.

His new therapist appointments, his physical therapy, meetings with a social worker, and his return to High School. There was so much to do and so little energy to do it.

On his last day a nurse brought him down to the front entrance in a wheelchair and sat with him until FP, Fred and Archie pulled up in an SUV. 

“Hey, Jughead,” The nurse gave him a heartfelt look as she handed over a pair of crutches, “If you ever need anything, don’t be afraid to call us here. There’s always someone who can help no matter how bad it feels.”

Jughead couldn’t help but appreciate the offer from the familiar woman and quietly thanked her. Archie, Fred, and FP all got out of the car to help Jughead get into the car but he rejected their help.

Jughead had grown extremely accustomed to dissociating in car rides. He didn’t know it was called that until the hospital. He just thought it was taking a break from his real life. He imagined himself not sitting in a vehicle but at the same time irreversibly rooted to the very spot he sat. Car ride represented the end of one or many violations on the way to the next one.Usually there were no windows the take in the passing scenery; he was blindfolded or often just required to keep his forehead on the seat in front of him with his eyes down. 

The minute the car door slammed shut in front of him that was his queue assumed that position and to step away from his mind. It didn’t matter that Archie or his Dad tried talking to him or anything else. Because he was just rooted to his spot and untethered loose from his surroundings. 

The other occupants were disturbed by Jughead’s actions. In the past week they had carefully danced around sensitive topics (really almost all topics were sensitive) and when they couldn’t avoid it Fred, Archie, FP and the staff expected a negative response like a dissisassociative state or a panic attack. This was seemingly unprovoked and unending. It was incredibly intimidating and made FP question his ability to be the Dad Jughead would need. 

Two hours into the ride they need to pull over for gas and a bathroom break. Jughead continued to completely ignore the conservation and any questions. As the car took the exit off the highway Archie slipped his hand into Jughead’s and held it gently. Slowly Jughead came back to himself. First he looked blankly at his hand being held then met Archie’s eye. 

“Hey, Jug. We’re stopping now. Do you want anything to eat?” Archie struggle to conceal his relief seeing that it looked like Jughead could finally hear him. 

Jughead nodded his head and quietly responded, “Yeah sure,” to the question. 

At the gas station Fred pushed a $20 dollar bill into Archie hand and instructed him to get whatever he wanted and bottles of water for everyone. The two boys walked away from the car into the convenience store.

“Fred, what are we doing?” FP didn’t need to specify. Fred, despite driving, had also notice Jughead’s behavior. They saw eyes staring firmly at his own shoes and sitting in an oddly assumed position. “He wasn’t there with us that whole time.”

“Doc said it might take time, FP.” Fred consoled.

“There’s something… triggering him, I guess? I’m still learning all of this. How am I supposed to help him?” It was true FP had barely heard of triggers and all other mental health concepts he’d just been thrown in the deep end of.

“You can do this FP. You love your son and you’ve got my support. We’re taking this one moment at a time.” Fred loved Jughead like a son as well and was planning to be a strong pillar of support for the family. 

“I think we gotta,” FP paused and considered his words again, “think maybe if we put him up front he could look out the windows and enjoy the ride at least a little bit.”

Fred smiled, “It’s worth a try.” And with that their tank was full and the boys were headed back to the car with snacks and drinks in hand.

“Change of seating boys,” Fred announced, “Jug you’re up front with your Dad and I’ll just back with Arch.”

The seat re-arrangment did seem to change the mood in the car. Jughead let a small smile play across his face before leaning up against the window to look out at the passing landscape. This was the posture of a bored teenager and not a trained response. Occasionally, Jughead would even answer short “yes” or “no” questions.

The ride was more or less the same for hours. Which is to say, it was dead boring. 

That’s how things were until they pulled into a rest stop just east of Pittsburgh. While pulling up to the gas pump Jughead’s entire demeanor shifted. His hand snaked around to the back of neck and a look of dread overcame him. It was the kind of rest stop like the ones all over the country. Gas pumps, cheap buffets, pool tables, and a cheaper than shit motel. Jughead couldn’t tell if he’d been there before but the set up was common enough to strike a nerve. 

Like a swift punch to the gut, Jughead felt breathless. How could they bring him back here? Is this where they wanted him? He thought he was done. Where they going to watch? He didn’t want them to see him.

Jughead was drowning in a whirlpool of thoughts 

“Boys, how about a bathroom break?” FP asked. He was seated in the back seat at this point and was blind to the change in his son. 

Jughead went back to nonverbal and shook his head side to side wildly, increasing the tight grip on his hair. They get so mad when you don’t respond he whined internally. Then after a pause gave a small, “No, sir.” 

This was the first sign to the occupants of the back seat that something was wrong. 

Fred had seen this change evolve and became seriously worried. “I think we’re going to keep going, actually. We’ll all have to hold it a little bit longer.”

At first FP didn’t take the hint and opened his mouth to protest when Jughead started talking. “No no no no noo,” He whined, “Please no no.”

Fred ripped his way out of rest area, running over the curb. If they were going to handle this it was going to be somewhere else. 

Getting back on the highway Jughead continue to cry to himself. He was too far gone to realize they left the parking lot. Archie tried to reach his hand up the front seat to comfort his friend but Jughead flinched away from his reach. Everyone in the car felt helpless. The next exit was nearly fifteen miles down the road. 

FP tried to remember how to do the breathing coaching he'd been taught at the hospital but instead just clumsily ask Jughead if he wanted to breathe. 

Archie himself had experienced panic attacks. His run ins with the Black Hood, or rather his long time neighbor Hal Cooper hadn’t left him unscathed. But he’d never seen a panic attack really, especially one like this. He was so overwhelmed he ended up raising his voice to try to get Jug’s attention. All it did was make him shrink further into himself.

Fred did his best to keep his eyes on the road. Two miles until a fast food restaurant. It would have to do. Jughead’s cries were heart wrenching to everyone in the car. It was hard to understand how the defiant sarcastic boy had been broken down so brutally. 

When the truck pulled into the parking and FP jumped out of the car practically before they’d come to a full stop. He pulled open the door to his son and pulled him into a tight hug. Jughead tried to pull away. They stayed like that in the parking for almost an hour. 

No one had expected the homecoming to be so painful. The plan was to stop at a roadside diner. Have burgers and milkshakes. Then a bag of Pop’s on the counter in the home in Riverdale when they arrived at approximately 11:00 pm. 

They pulled into FP’s driveway at 1am. He carried all the bags up to the front door. Once Jughead made it up the few stairs FP stood by his side.

“Welcome home, son.” he said. This was supposed to be a joyous moment but the pair was too exhausted to act it out properly. “I’ll show you your room.”

FP walked slowly through the same home, turning on the lights as he went. The home was modest and tidy. Jughead notice with appreciation some of the knick knacks that followed them from house to house and then to the trailer were still present.

Jughead’s room had some of the old family blankets, all of his books, and posters. This had never been his room before but it certainly was now. 

“Thanks, Dad.” He whispered and made his way over to bed on the crutches. The trip was finally over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a few more chapters planned to round out this story. My guess at this point is five chapters. But I'm always open to inspiration. if you have thought please feel free to drop them below!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Pea makes an appearance.

Somehow, Sweet Pea is the first one to get to visit Jughead at home. 

Shortly after Jughead's arrival home Betty manages to stave off the urge to throw him a Welcome Home Party even for just the Inner CircleTM. She knew he was never interested in parties and it seemed likely that Jughead's preference against celebrations hadn't changed. 

There had been an unspoken agreement that Betty would be the first one to go to visit. She had been his last call, afterall. She and Archie met in preparation the day after he returned to Riverdale. He gave her a run down of the do's and don'ts as well as a collection of warnings and disclaimers about how he would be different from before. 

It was punctuated with cautioning not to say anything about his beanie. When Betty pressed Archie for a reason he responded gravely, “No one will give me a straight answer. It’s like they’re trying to protect me from something. And, you know, it might be the kind of thing I don’t want to fucking know.”

The anticipation of it all ran hot through her veins. 

The morning before her visit FP asked Jughead over breakfast if he'd like to see Betty that day. In between bites of cereal Jughead responded with a casual, "No." This was shocking to FP but he tried to not let it show and match his son's blasé attitude. It was another chapter in the book of Jughead's new and unbalancing behavior. Other topics included breaking down crying at odd hours and inexplicably throwing out or destroying his own possessions. 

FP relayed his son's rejection to Betty as gently as he was capable of. He never wanted his son to run away from his problems, romantic problems in particular, like he had at that age but FP had to keep in mind that Jughead needed to rebuild a sense of control over his life. Betty tried to rationalize the situation as much as possible but it still hurt her deeply. 

Jughead's Serpent and Northside friends had all in touch during his disappearance but slowly those lines of communication were breaking down. When Betty failed to make her visit that day Archie and Veronica were not sure how to proceed but the young crew of Serpents never got the message. FP was stretched further than ever before returning to work, attending AA meetings, and looking after his son. So, he was completely unable to relay the message to Jughead’s complete network of friends. 

Upon arriving home Jughead had been reunited with his phone and laptop although neither were getting much use. There were countless unchecked emails, texts and voicemails cluttering the devices. Scrolling through the lists of texts it was clear Betty texted him most out of anyone. The last one was previewed under her name and read, “I can’t wait to hear your voice. I love you. See you soon.” It came shortly after he’d been rescued (he wasn’t really sure if that’s was it was anyway) in Detroit. He knew she intentionally mirrored his last words to her. He felt like a fraud. He couldn’t bring himself to click and check the 397 unread texts from her and he wasn’t ready to see her soon. 

Jughead archived the voicemails for another time and hid the shortcut for text messages from his home screen. Deleted all of his pointless social media, too. Why the fuck had someone tagged him in his own missing poster on instagram? 

So Jughead was surprised, to say the least, to a new message from Sweet Pea pop up when he took a rare look at it that morning. Sweet Pea wanted to know if he was around. Jughead answered the text in the notification, opting to avoid reading reading any of the missed messages.

Jughead  
Yea. 

Sweet Pea  
Cool let’s hang what time

Jughead  
idk ill be here all day

Sweet Pea  
kk c u later

Jughead let the message disappear from the screen because he was distracted by his Dad calling him over to breakfast. He didn’t want to open the texting application any time soon and let the conversation come to an end. It wasn’t until later when he was kicking himself for opening himself up to plans at all. There was no way he was sending a text or making a phone call to bail now. He wasn’t going to touch that phone. Jughead just hoped Sweet Pea wouldn’t have his address or maybe he had just hallucinated the entire interaction. 

Around noon Jughead saw a notification for a missed call from Sweet Pea and again in that moment a text notification was on the screen.

Sweet Pea  
butt dial sry 

Jughead was too slow to respond like he had earlier and missed the chance to cancel their plans for later a second time. He wanted to kick himself for the stupid situation he was in. 

After spending some time hobbling on his crutches throughout the house he decided that he would have to see his friends eventually and this would have been his first step. Jughead felt like he’d been forced into a lot of firsts in his life and he was just going to have to accept that this was another one. His goal was to leave all the bullshit of the grueling past months behind in its totality and seeing his friends was going to have to be a part of that. 

~

Sweet Pea had not expect a response from Jughead the morning he sent over the message. He had definitely not expected the immediate succession of answers at all. 

There had been times over the past couple of months that he had sent similar texts to Jughead’s phone. Those nights had seemed so normal to begin with. On those nights he thought his friend was just off writing his novel or watching some old film and needed an invite out. Every time Sweet Pea had sent those texts it ruined his day and made him feel like a fucking shithead. How was he supposed to be out drinking and having a good time while his friend was missing? Or even dead.

But this text didn’t ruin his day at all. Sweet Pea would never admit it but he was practically giddy with excitement. The line between hate and love is a fine one. So, when Sweet Pea socked Jughead in the face with brass knuckles at his initiation Gauntlet last year he went from being an ungrateful bastard to his brother in an instant. Getting his brother back after all this time meant the world to him.

The plan had been to let Toni and Fangs know where he was going after school let out that day and extend a tentative invitation to meet up later. Unfortunately, at the end of the day the pair didn’t show up at their regular meet-up spot and he quickly found out that they had both been assigned another bullshit detention. They would have to wait for the post-report.

After killing some time Sweet Pea pulled up in front of FP’s northside home at about 4pm. He couldn’t help but notice how close he lived to his buddy Andrews' place. 

Jughead was still home alone while FP was at work all evening. When he let in Sweet Pea into the house the two friends made eye contact for nearly a second before Sweet Pea pulled Jughead into a tight hug. Jughead was slightly nauseated by the contact but knew he needed to hold it together. If he could last 30 minutes with an unshowered trucker with something to prove then he could last at least 45 minutes with one of his closest friends. 

Sweet Pea’s eyes flickered up to Jughead’s wild and uncapped hair but he didn’t comment. 

“Man, it’s so fucking good to see you.” Sweet Pea exclaimed. Jughead’s smiled back but it didn’t reach his eyes. He wanted it to. So badly. 

“How about some Call of Duty, man? I bet I’ll fucking smoke you.” Jughead invited Sweet Pea over to the couch and turned the console on. It was a convenient excuse to prevent all conversation and make the time pass quickly. An outsider might even believe these were just two teenage boys skipping out on their homework to play video games all evening and not a fraught reunion.

It was nearly 45 minutes when Jughead paused the game. He did it. He could check spending time with a friend off his list. 

“I seriously think you oversold your abilities, man” Sweet Pea laughed.

“No, no, no,” Jughead tutted, “Did you see that play earlier? That was my peak! True form! But ya know, I’m tired dude.” He scrunched up his face and made a face like he was hinting at something.

Nonverbal communication was actually something Sweet Pea excelled at, how could he not? He and Fangs spent years shooting each other messages with the smallest twitch of their faces. He was getting the message from Jughead loud and clear. That message was get the fuck out please. But there were all kinds of things he wanted to say before he left. 

Instead he just laughed and said, “Fangs and Toni are going to go crazy when I tell them we got to hang with you before they did.” 

Jughead’s face fell completely. He was seriously beginning to question his sanity recently but this took the cake. The name. The boy. His brother. Fangs. He was fucking dead. Shot after he failed to get him to safety after the police station. There was no way Sweet Pea was talking about Fangs. 

“Fangs?...” Jughead trailed off breathing heavy. He was alone in grief over Fangs for so long. He never got to go to his funeral. Never got to say goodbye. Never felt like he deserved the opportunity in some ways.

Sweet Pea realized his mistake too late. No one fucking remembered to tell Jughead that they’d been lied to that night. The night when the Serpent clan, fueled by grief, committed themselves to an all out battle. The night Jughead had maneuvered himself into the clutches of the Ghoulies to prevent more bloodshed. He was not prepared to help Jughead recontextualize the past eight months of his life but he knew that he had to do something fast.

Jughead was falling apart when Sweet Pea grabbed his arm trying to steady him. Once again, the well intentioned gesture sent Jughead reeling even further. Jughead was aware of how backwards it all was and it him feel broken for the millionth time. 

Abandoning the couch and his crutches Jughead ran, limped really, towards his bedroom. Sweet Pea took a moment to take a deep breath, grabbed the crutches, and made his way back to where Jughead had fled. He knew this situation was impossibly fucked and there was no way out of that now.

“Jughead?” Sweet Pea called, "I’m sorry you had to find out like this. But Fangs is fucking alive. And you're fucking alive. And you’re back. This is good."

Jughead tried to furiously wipe the evidence of his tears from his face. Quietly, he murmured, "No, no, no. I saw him there dying"

"Yeah he's alive! Do you want to talk to him? I'll call him right fucking now. He'll be so happy to talk to you!" Sweet Pea returned. He wanted to rush up to Jughead and shake some sense into him but he stuck to his better judgement and stayed leaned up against the door frame.

"No!"

"Why the fuck not!"

"I shouldn't be anywhere near you! This was a mistake! Coming here was a mistake, Sweet Pea." Jughead growled. 

"What does that even mean?"

"My whole life people in this town have been saying I'm going to grow up to be a useless deadbeat and they were so right," Jughead paused and inhaled deeply as his words set in over and over again.

"I've already gotten an incredible head start!" He laughed derisively, "I'm a literal fucking whore. And I need to stay away from you and Fangs and everyone else. There could be dangerous people out there looking for me." 

"That's bullshit! In unity there is strength!" He quoted, "And... and... what the fuck has Betty said about this stupid idea? Huh? She's too smart for this dumb ass shit."

"I can't see her. She shouldn’t have to see me like this.” Jughead said yelled defensively.

“She needs you. We all need you. Whoever you think you are. What ever you are” Sweet Pea said matching his friend’s volume. He entered the room and took a seat at the desk across from the bed.

There was no response. It seemed clear to Sweet Pea that Jughead was teetering on the edge of destruction.

“Look, Jughead, can I tell you something?” His volume dropped considerably. With no response he continued.

“A couple years ago when my mom died my brother adopted me. He didn’t want me going to foster care. He was just barely old enough to get me. He had a half decent factory job at the time. You knew that, right?” Sweet Pea rung his hands and stared at his beat up shoes. He hated exposing himself like this. 

“Everything was fine at first. But then he got laid off and there was no money for rent or food or fucking anything. My brother, he… he did what he had to for a while. We were almost out of our home when he first started, he was bringing people around occasionally late at night. It wasn’t long until I realized he was in the trade, kind of like you but... uhh... not exactly. He tried to hide it from me. Shield me from it.” Jughead was staring intently at Sweet Pea, who only returned his gaze for a second. One deep breath later he continued.

“Every night he was out there working and all of his days he was at home drinking. He was spending as much money trying to destroy himself as he was making working. I was terrified watching him fall apart. He was all I had left.” 

“Then thank fucking god, he was offered his job back. But it took time for him to get back to himself. Some of the other Serpents help pull him out of it too. And I don’t really know exactly what happened with him and I sure as shit don’t know what you’ve been through. But I know it’s not you because it wasn’t him. You just need time.” For a second Sweet Pea felt himself begging to a god he didn’t believe in to make sure even part of his message reached Jughead. 

Jughead wrapped his arms around his body protectively and stared right through Sweet Pea, “I...I...Just don’t touch me, okay?” he said quietly. Everyone wanted to touch him all of a sudden, especially when things got emotional. No one hardly touched him before. 

“I thought I knew who I was. I was...a weirdo, and a Serpent, and a friend. And somehow a fucking boyfriend.” He flashed a smile at the thought of it. He had loved being a boyfriend.

“I didn’t always feel whole. But not like this, like now. For months I was merchandise” His voice tightened and raised at the end of his statement. Jughead had heard himself be referred to in many similar ways with varying levels of crudeness but it was the first time he’d said it at his own volition. He was still trying to process what it meant. “It hollowed me out and ruined me,” he protested. Why didn’t they understand?

He peeled off his zip-up hoodie and revealed his arms and ran his fingers over the distorted skin where his Serpent tattoo used to be. It looked raw, twisted, and painful. 

“They took this from me. Penny did. Then they took everything else too. Over and over again. I have nothing left.” His fingers then brushed over a tattoo of chains that circled his arm just below the scar. The blocky ink was stark in comparison to his pale skin. 

“I’ve got shit like these all over me. But like some worse ones, you know? They’re disgusting. I’m disgusting. I don’t know what time’s going to do about that. I have nothing left. ” He frowned angrily. 

“You have us. You have us now. While you find everything else again, you have us.” Sweet Pea wanted to give his brother everything he had but knew Jughead Jones needed to find whatever it was for himself.

Jughead withdrew into himself. This was the most frank discussion he’d had in weeks about the whole ordeal and it left him feeling more vulnerable than he was comfortable with. He wasn’t supposed to be feeling this way. He was supposed to just get up and move on.

The cruelty evident on Jughead’s arms alone was startling to Sweet Pea. There were other smaller scars and tattoos adoring his arms. Scarred cigarette burns and shallow slashes climbed up his arms. Any trace of muscle was stripped from his arms where it had previously been developing. It was just then he realized how Jughead was swimming in his clothes. 

Maybe it was a chill in the air or the anxiety pulsing through his body but Jughead began to shiver in his place on the bed. Sweet Pea eyed the worn leather jacket hanging off of the closet door. He crossed the small room and grabbed it. They weren’t the leathers given to Jughead some months ago but F.P.’s originals. He tossed it into Jughead’s lap and let him examine the garment. 

Sweet Pea was afraid to push Jughead any further and let the moment fizzle out. 

“Why don’t we go watch TV until F.P. get back?” Sweet Pea offered an easy out from the situation. There was no way he was leaving Jughead alone now and F.P. clearly needed to know the consequences of the mistake he made by not telling his son about Fangs. What else had he forgotten?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to add a note that I support sex workers and voluntary sex work. Legalization would make it a safer occupation. because sex work is work. We need to repeal SESTA/FOSTA (in the US) and do work that will legitimately protect victims and vulnerable people without punishing and endangering sex workers. Like we could start with actually punishing and rehabilitating rapists. 
> 
> This idea about Sweet Pea's brother just came to me one day. I've got lots of my own serpent head-canons that will likely be tarnished by season 4 but whatever we'll see. 
> 
> Please consider leaving a comment! It really means a lot to me!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's your Betty Cooper chapter. Please read the updated tags this shit continues to be heavy and sad.

Elizabeth Cooper is patient, intentional, and in love. She tries to understand how he doesn’t want to see her now. She tries to process the feeling of whiplash that comes with months of desperately searching for someone that precedes them not wanting to see you. Jughead Jones is home but no one has seen him in days. He's not missing but he's missing from her life still. She tries.

She can’t understand it. 

She knew she needed to build the platform of their relationship again, even if that’s only going to be a friendship, back up from. 

She can’t understand it. Until, she gets an email. He reached out to her. With a new email address, oddly.

It was late. Like 2am late. But he initiated on his own. He asked her if she was up and could come over. There’s no time to check in with Archie or even Sweet Pea (the only ones who have seen him so far). She throws on her warmest winter jacket and heads over to his house on foot.

Archie swore he told her everything he knew. How Jughead was more passive than ever. Even worse than he was when he first moved into the Andrews’ home. Thinner than then, too. Archie told Betty that he could wrap his fingers around Jug’s wrist without even touching skin. The more real it was getting the more it tore apart her heart. 

Sweet Pea was more tight lipped than Archie. He warned her that shouldn’t expect to understand him and what he’s been through. “If you fucking touch him, I’ll kill you.” Sweet Pea had never threatened her or any woman before but the care and seriousness behind the threat was palpable.

As she approaches his house Betty realizes she can’t text him to let him know she’s there. She’s afraid to ring the doorbell and wake up FP. 

Betty sticks to her instincts and walks around to the back of the house where a porch light is on. Betty is grateful for the crunch of the snow because it warns Jughead of her arrival. It’s been over eight months since they’ve laid eyes on each other but it feels like a whole lifetime. She's got no idea where to start. 

She finds him there. He is a beautiful sight. A strain in her neck, one that she didn’t realize she was holding for so long, is finally released. It takes every bit of her self restraint to not run over and tackle him to the ground. To hold him and never let go.

He speaks first, “Hey, you,” but he’s not looking at her. 

“Hi, Jughead.” She smiles back trying to contain her joy. There is cold air and dead silence between the pair.

Jughead breaks the silence. “I’m sorry I haven’t responded to any of your messages.” He looks at her for a moment searching for anger in her features. Surprised to only find kindness he returns to watching his cigarette burn between his fingers. He tried to stifle is vulnerability in the moment but he feels like an open wound.

A confused looks flashes across her face trying to recount any reason he should have responded to something by now, “No I think…”

He interrupts he sheepishly, “The texts.”

This stops her in her tracks, “Oh.” Really she had forgotten all about the texts she sent. 

When he first went missing her texts were panicked but utilitarian. She wanted him to call her, tell her where he was, pick up his phone, and to come back. It had only taken a couple of days to find Jughead’s beaten up cell phone in the mess of his trailer. None of her texts reached him. Then she stopped texting him for a time. Harshly reminding herself that it wouldn’t do him any good. 

That changed when the town’s interest in searching for her missing boyfriend waned soon after. He had been one of her closest confidants and she desperately missed him. He wasn’t just a lost cause. She started back up with “good nights” texts that turned into practically diary entries. It had kept her motivated. Her face burned in embarrassment now. 

Somehow she never realized that he would read those entries or at least try to. In all honesty, she sent them to the person he was the moment before he hung up on her during riot night. All the things she needed to say before he hung up on her. That had been a time when she would have happily cracked open her diary for her boyfriend and poured out all of her hurt. But he was healing now and didn’t need to coddle her feelings.

“I, uh, went a little bit overboard on that. Sorry.” She finally responds making her way over to where he's seated on the back steps.

"I sent them to you though," she nods anxiously, "Maybe we could look at them together sometime?"

The silence made her uncomfortable and without a response from him she continued to talk to fill the space.

Betty can only imagine what he's feeling. As an olive branch she's wants to offer some vulnerability of her own. "Some of those texts are kind of intense, you know? I was going through a lot. I think I still am. But I'm trying therapy now and it's been really helpful."

"Oh." He doesn’t take the bait.

"Can I sit?" The stoop is fairly long and she wouldn't have a problem sitting herself down with plenty of space. In the past she might have just sat right on his lap, in fact. But the priority now is respecting his boundaries. 

"Okay." He shifts over the far corner of the surface like he's in her way. Betty tries not to count it like a strike against herself. 

She tries a new approach. “Do you remember the old treehouse? Right when it first went up you and Archie spent the whole weekend sleeping up there? But I was too afraid to climb up so I slept on the ground all weekend.” She laughed happily.

“It wasn’t until Sunday night that you actually got me to come up and I absolutely loved it. I slept there Sunday night even though it drove my Mom crazy. And you guys stayed with me, too. That meant the world to me.” Not allowing herself to get too lost in the memory she shot a secretive glance over to Jughead. She had hoped he would be happy to join her on a trip down memory lane. That even if the present was too difficult and strange to handle at the very least they shared simple and wholesome childhood memories.

But his demeanor didn’t change. His expression was nearly blank. She didn’t know if this was strike two or three against her but it broke her heart all the same and tears began to fall. 

“Juggie, I’ve missed you so much. It has been so hard here without you.” she sobbed. She held out her hands in front of her to examine the damage to her palms as evidence of her struggle. This catches his attention.

He quietly shifts closer to her and takes a hold of her hands to examine the crescent shaped scars and open cuts. “Betts…” he whispers. Betty is too caught up in her grief to realize how monumental it was for him to touch someone at all. 

“I feel like I’m falling apart without you, Juggie.” She pauses to try to catch her breath between sobs, “I know that’s not fair to you Juggie. But I feel like I’m coming apart without you.” His hands gently grip hers as his own tears begin to fall. “I need you back…”

“Betts, I can’t...I can’t hold you together.” His frown deepens when their eyes meet, “I can barely hold myself together. I love you but I’m nothing anymore. Shit, I wish I was only nothing.” He rolled up his sleeve to reveal several fresh and healing cigarette burns on his forearm. 

Jughead drops his head shamefully and takes a hold of her hands again. “It’s not enough anymore. I...I need more Betts and I don’t know why. I need it to hurt. I want it to end me. I'm so fucked up."

"It’s not happening anymore. But it feels like I’m still there in my head. And… and I can't live like this." Tears began to roll down his face.

“But I just needed to apologize to you and to see you. At least one last time. Just in case. I...I have these pills, so…in case I...I can't...can't hold on...”

He didn’t have to finish his sentence for the message to get across. 

“Juggie, you mean the world to me. You’re everything. No matter what.” It was like torture letting her hands simply rest in his. She wanted to grab him and hold him if only just to know that he was safe in that moment. 

“You don’t have to hold me together Jughead. Just having you besides me gives strength. Having you here and knowing that you’re struggling against your own darkness too gives me the strength to fight mine.” Betty tried to slow her tears falling but her grief was too strong.

“I can’t be your boyfriend like before Betty. There's parts of me I can’t let you see. And there are so many things I can't do… I won't do ever again." He growls and pulls his hands back. He threads his fingers through his hair and hopes the pain of pulling at his hair will distract his impending breakdown. Even the thought of an intimate touch scared him shitless.

"Jug, you accepted me and my darkness without hesitation. Please let me do the same for you. It’s the least you deserve." In response he closes his eyes and nodded jerkily. Betty thinks this might be the most important thing she’s ever done.

“Why don’t we go inside? I know I’m cold so you must be freezing.” she offers delicately, eyeing his thin frame. He nods once again not meeting her eyes. Betty pulls herself up quickly, excited to leave the cold.

After a few steps she’s at the foot of the back door and waits for Jughead to join her. Betty looks back and sees Jughead still sitting on the steps. “Are you coming, Juggie?”

“I…,” he inhales deeply, “I can’t get up by myself.” It was so embarrassing. “My leg is like fucked up. It makes it hard to uh...do stuff like get up or move around a lot without the crutches.” 

Betty tries not to outwardly gape at his most recent admission. The crutches are nowhere to be seen. “Just give me a minute.” He tries again to get back standing but can’t fully extend himself to standing. After each attempt pain continues to spread across his face. 

“Can I help you?” Betty whispers fearing that she’s crossing his boundaries by entering his personal space. “Yeah,” He responds reluctantly. She cautiously sits down closely beside him on his weak side and wraps her arm his other side. In turn, he puts his arm around her shoulders and the duo carefully rise together. 

Betty can smell his shampoo and he feels solid against her body. It is all she’s wanted for months and she tries to not let uncertainty cloud her gratitude. He’s been hurting himself and he wants to do more than that. He’s too light in her grasp and his leg is broken. Despite this being their first reunion nothing about it seemed particularly optimistic. 

Jughead tries to relax in her embrace. He tries harder to relax than he ever has. He tries harder than every time a monster commanded him to do so. He tries harder than every time his Dad, Fred, Archie or Sweet Pea has hugged him recently. 

But her touch stirs conflicting memories. Countless hours reading together while cuddled up on the couch. Being dragged out of a basement after days of isolation. Collapsing in bed together after hours of working on the Blue and Gold. Rough hands shoving him onto a motel bed. 

Their trip over to the couch pushes Jughead over the brink of exhaustion. 

They fall back onto the couch with their arms still tangled. He’s numb and completely fatigued. It isn’t long until he fell asleep in her arms. Betty pulled blankets over the two of them and made herself comfortable, relishing in the fragile moment of intimacy. Within the hour Betty herself fell asleep on the couch too.

Several hours later FP pulls himself out of bed to make a pot of coffee before work. While he waits for the pot to brew he sees the pair cuddled up on the couch. A slanted smile plays across his face and relief warms his heart. He’s looking forward to this happening more often and all the trouble it may bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please drop some kudos or consider leaving a comment! It really means a lot to me. Also it speeds up the rate that I post the newer chapters, if that's what you're interested in. or just let me know what you're opinion on season 4 is so far!
> 
> special thanks to anon reviewer j for my longest comment ever.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to Jughead's last day or so in hell. This is all hurt no comfort, sorry.

Jughead Jones was used to carrying his life around in a backpack. He had done it for almost six months last year. Then gradually, as he welcomed more people into his life, it seemed less and less like it would be possible that he would be returning to it. He had so much love in his life. Unfortunately, it was letting all those people back into his life and loving them so intensely that lead him back there. 

His self sacrifice felt inevitable with a violent gang war brewing and wealthy Northside magnate paying the way. His Dad had said himself only a few months ago that the only way he'd be leaving the Serpents was in a coffin. Jughead couldn't sit back and let his family be slaughtered. Watch Toni and Sweet Pea and so many others be cut down. He’d rather die (He wished he’d died).

So, there he was at the end of a very short stay at an unbelievably shitty motel packing everything he owned into a backpack. 

This backpack was markedly smaller than the one that supported him in Riverdale. Where last time he had his Mom’s abandoned (literally) hiking pack; this time he was hauling just a beat up Jansport backpack. Last time he had to juggle clothes, shoes, school books, personal items, and a laptop. This time he was carrying much less.

Ray and Vince prefered to travel light.

This wasn’t the first backpack he’d toted in the past few months. The first bag he had acquired on his own. It was before he was really working for Ray. It was back when he was spending most of his time in the basement of shady bars or under someone’s fist. It was back when his Serpent tattoo, or lack thereof, was highly infected and it was going completely untreated by his apathetic captors. He stole the string bag from from some basement to build a collection of napkins to cover the wound or any others he acquired. Eventually he got medical gauze for the bag then after that antibiotics from some sketchy veterinarian to treat the prolonged infection. 

That first BudLight string bag soon became home to a few pieces of clothing and a pair of women’s heels that were too small and too high to be comfortable. He was also trying to keep a small journal on the back of take out napkins and hotel notepads he’d squirreled away. That string bag was a little bit like his home.

But the bag had been lost after not much time. One night when he passed out in a motel room with a particularly cruel man he later woke up in a familiar moving car. “Fuck those shoes anyway” was Jughead’s only take away, trying to focus on the positive. But again he couldn't help but wonder if someone would find his sad autobiography scrawled on napkins or if it went straight to the trash.

Now, his Jansport, although small, held practically everything he held dear. He owned at least a few nice things. He always tried to focus on that if nothing else. There was a maroon sweatshirt that was warm and soft. Carrying a couple books seemed to tolerated so he had a few of those in there too. There was a Halo book, a dusty romance novel, and “Walden” by Thoreau. Also a pamphlet of Things To Do In Springfield, Illinois. That pamphlet had been nabbed at a motel when there was more hope coursing through his veins. But unfortunately only one of those things is worth reading though and it’s not the one you think. 

His also carried things he despised. Soiled women’s unmentionables, condoms, and another fucking pair of heels. When the bag eventually got left behind Jughead prepared himself to focus on how much he hated that shit again and think maybe the next bag wouldn’t be the same. Or maybe there wouldn’t be a next bag. But until this bag was gone Jughead was not going to focus on those things. 

Him and his bag are back on the road. Head down and eyes closed in the back of a beat up Camry because he’s heading somewhere else. It could have been minutes or hours since they left. Jughead’s vaguely aware that he’s hungry. 

Where they’re headed is just another suburb it turns out. Just another suburban home with the grass a little bit untidy or needs a paint job. The home they go to always stands out somehow. The stench of pain must be manifest physically, he hypothesizes. Ricky and Vince just aren’t doing their jobs right if their destination doesn’t disquiet even a little bit. The house reminds Jughead of where he first landed when the Ghoulies sold him off. 

License plates around him say Michigan. City skyscrapers in the distance. "Might be Detroit," Jughead guessed silently.

Vince leads him into the house with his arm casually rest on Jughead’s shoulder. It’s a claim laid although done innocently enough to missed by onlooking neighbors. The house is full of people like Vince or Ray and kids like Jughead. Vince tips up Jughead’s chin and caresses his cheek in a way that is mockingly loving.

“Be a good boy.” he says before slapping his cheek gently before letting him loose in the house. 

Like usual, there are people all over the house on all kinds of drugs trying to escape their reality for even a second. Like usual, Jughead takes part. He doesn’t care what he takes just that it makes the time pass.

“Hey, boy. Let’s go.” a girl about his age with sandy blonde hair mutters as they fall over each other on the bathroom floor. The feeling of the cold tile floor disappears from the palms of his hands.

Amidst his haze and through the mental fog a figure emerged across the bathroom. Leather and black jeans swaddled the figure. He was laying limply against the wall just like the other kids spread around the house. 

“Fangss,” Jughead manages to say even though somehow the fog has climbed down this throat. 

It’s good to see him again. The angles in his face are soft in all the ways Jughead remembers. The moment is turns bittersweet as Jughead eyes meet the bleeding gunshot wound in his side. 

“No,” Jughead moans, remembering that this means was his brother was dying. 

“Jughead, we love you.” Fangs says calmly and quietly and completely unaware of his mortal injury. Jughead takes was feels like an eternity to push the sleeve of his big warm sweatshirt away to look at the scarred remains of his Serpent tattoo because it seems like what he’s looking for. Everything is syrupy and dull but no one in the room seems concerned.

He slowly turns his attention back at Fangs and he’s sobbing now, “Jughead I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to die. Jughead, don’t die. Don’t die. Please. Come home come home.”

It should an emotional scene but it doesn’t reach Jughead’s heart. He cocks his head to the side and looks blankly until the fog closes in on him again. 

~

The next day Jughead pays for the syrupy dullness with pain unlike any he’s felt before. His head feels like it’s in a vice grip and every injury he’s ever had throbs anew. 

He feels like it should be the morning but the likelihood of that feels low. He wants to climb into a hole and die for a whole new reason. At least there’s no classes to get up for Jughead thinks darkly. No more fucking school. 

Ray opens the door letting the light into the dark room. To Jughead and the others in the room he might as well have slammed the door open and shone high beams right on them. 

“Get the fuck up Fuckhead.” Ray snipes as he leans down to grab Jughead off of the ground. Ray is supporting most of his weight as he drags Jughead from the room. The pain is his leg is alive and makes it difficult to keep up with the agitated man. 

“I let you sleep there like a piece of shit for a whole day you better make it worth my while now Fuckhead” He shoves the Jansport backpack into Jughead’s hands and hauls him out the door. Jughead is vaguely aware that’s it’s been awhile since he’s eaten but can’t seem to care while nausea rolls through him. 

Instead of shoving him into the car like normally Ray pushes up against the side of the vehicle.  
“Look, kid. Wake up!” Vince comes up to the pair and gives Jughead a firm shake, “I’m gonna level with you here Fuckhead. You’re getting too old for this. So, we’re gonna give you a new side gig.”

Jughead groans internally because this can’t be good and he still kind of feels Fangs lingering on the edge of his consciousness. Fangs is still dying and begging for his life on the edge of his consciousness.

“We’re heading downtown and you’re going to bring home a new friend, got it? Someone not as fucking ugly as you, got it?” The demand slips out like it isn’t a viscerally disgusting request. In his haze Jughead can barely process it all. His throbbing bodyache and the distant sound of Fangs sobbing quietly make it doubly hard to concentrate on the situation at hand. 

Clearly growing more frustrated by the second Vince slaps him sharply across the face. “Fuckhead if you don’t do this we’re going strap you back down to that table until you’re begging us for the shot at this.”

The sudden stinging impact had the effect of a strong cup of coffee on him and calls forth a wave of defiance that hasn’t reared its head in too long. “Fuck you. I won’t do it.” Jughead spits out as he raises his hand to cradle his cheek. His eyes are still cast down at the ground afraid to meet the eyes of the two men. He failed Fangs so badly. He can’t be responsible for more suffering. 

"What did you say to me?" Vince said stilted and angry. 

Still looking down Jughead repeated himself, "I said no." The mounting panic of the situation was starting to drown out the echoes of Fangs.

The situation took a quick turn when Vince grabbed Jughead by the throat with both hands. Squeezing tightly he spat, "You're gonna fucking regret that Fuckhead. You’re gonna fucking beg." 

Jughead futally clawed his bruising grip around his throat, panicking at his decreasing supply of oxygen. When he was finally released Jughead tried to catch his breath but a swift punch to his gut prevented from doing so. He fell bonelessly onto the icy pavement while black spots danced across his vision. 

In this vulnerable state, Ray came and grabbed Jughead's arms and zip tied his hands together. Unceremoniously the two men hauled him into the trunk of the Camry. Between the anxiety, exhaustion, and oxygen deprivation, Jughead Jones passed out. 

~

He woke up sometime later in that same position in the trunk of the Camry sweatier and even more nauseous than before. The previous altercation with Ray and Vince came back to mind immediately and fear burned through his veins. The pain and suffering coming his way was going to be epic. Or maybe they would finally just kill him if he’s not worth the money he hoped. No wasn’t a privilege he was afforded anymore.

The sound of voices pulled Jughead from his dark thoughts. Then he registered the sounds of sirens. This was not going to be a normal day he knew that now. A small sob escaped his lips as he tried to fathom what sort of fucked up torture was headed his way. He tried to lift his head off the uncomfortably coarse upholstery or shift his body but being bound for so long made that challenging. Per usual escape was impossible. 

Suddenly, the voices got louder as if they were clamoring outside the car and the trunk popped slightly. "Here it comes." Jughead steeled himself. 

But instead of Vince’s or Ray’s ugly mug he made eye contact with two people in police uniforms. Their faces half covered with masks and an angry look in their eyes. At this Jughead lost his handle on his anxiety and began to panic. He thought tears would fall from his eyes like floodgates opening, he should be hyperventilating, and his whole body should shivering against the binds. But all he felt was empty. Like he’d drained out of his own body.

His eyes found the Jansport backpack in the trunk and he knew in his gut he wouldn't be seeing the fucking thing again. Damnit he was going to miss it.

"Shit! Flores where's the other ambulance!" One of the officers barked.

~

The officers had been called to the scene when another cop had pulled over the car listed in an Amber Alert. Usually those alerts were all about parental kidnapping marking a tenuous custody situation. But this alert was the real deal. It signaled the presence of the kind of boogeymen parents hope never lay their eyes on their children.

The young girl in question was sitting inside the ambulance now with a few EMTs and police officers while they waited for her parents to arrive. The shitstains perps that tried to grab her were already in cuffs and headed away from the crime scene. The girl calmed down slightly and revealed that her kidnappers made reference to a boy tied up in the trunk. 

That's when the officer in the ambulance radioed for another ambulance and sent Officers Flores and Whitehall over to investigate. There had been a strong likelihood that the boy in the trunk was an empty threat to the girl to try to get her to behave. Or there's a dead body in the trunk. They put on a brave face and walked over to the car to investigate. Prepared for the worst.

In the trunk of the car was a pale white teenage boy with a ring of dark bruises around his throat. His breath was slow and uneven but present. Not dead or rotting or decaying, thankfully. 

“Hey kid,” Whitehall said softly, “We’re here to help, okay? Are you alright?”

No response.

“We’re gonna to get you out of there now. Okay, kid?” Flores added loudly. 

No response.

The pair exchanged a look and a shrug before reaching into the trunk. They lifted the stoic and bruised boy out of the car then snapped the zip ties around his hands and ankles. Flores expected screaming and crying, or at the very least some gratitude for the rescue. They tried asking for his name without success. His bloodshot eyes were open but stared blankly at the world. His lips hung open only slightly as if his words were about to tumble out but were caught on the tip of his tongue.

When the EMTs arrived he didn’t struggle against them maneuvering his body onto a stretcher. He did slowly and silently pull himself into the fetal position as he was wheeled away, trying to offer himself some strange solitary comfort. Whitehall had a feeling that the sight of the emaciated and catatonic boy would haunt her for years to come. 

On the way to the hospital, the boy was still unable to give them his name. His muteness was near uninterrupted until he whispered "Jug" nonsensically to himself before his voice faltered again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought was the good, the bad, and the ugly here! I think my writing has evolved from where this story began. Thank you so much to my reviewers.
> 
> I have one last chapter that I am hoarding. It's not really a wrap up because I think what I started I just don't have the chops to do justice. I do kind of like to think of this story as a collection of one-shots like "Snakes to a Mongoose". If I reviewer sparks enough of an idea in my brain there could someday be a 7th or 8th tale in this fucked up universe. 
> 
> Take care of your selves <3


	6. Chapter 6

“Did you think I was dead?” Jughead asks, cutting through the silence in Archie’s bedroom. He looks away from his school workbooks over to Archie laying on his bed, thumbing through a copy of Hamlet. 

Typically Jughead wouldn’t be caught outside of the boundaries of his own home since his return to Riverdale. So, you better believe he wasn’t at the Andrews’ residence at his own volition. He wouldn’t even be tempted by a trip to the Bijou. 

It had been only a few days ago when he quietly requested FP take all of the knives out of the house. He angrily, as if he was fighting himself, forced out the request out late one night when the pair had been watching TV together. FP didn’t need to ask a single question and by the morning all the knives were gone. Everything from the knife block to the plastic cutlery was gone. 

Alongside this FP made some demands of his own. One requirement was that he spend more time with his friends and less time at home alone. Hang time at the Andrews’ home became compulsory. So, at the end of Archie’s school day he came to pick up Jughead and his homeschooling books. The duo often settled into an uncomfortable evening of stilited small talk before lapsing into silence.

Archie tried not to gawk at his friend’s question. 

“Did you think I was dead?” he repeated evenly. 

“Jug, I swear, we never gave up on you.” Archie protested intensely. He dropped his English lit book and scrambled to the edge of the bed to get closer to Jughead sitting at the desk. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah Archie. I know you never gave up. Blah blah blah,” his voice was steeped in humor and mockery. He took a second and glanced out the window. When his eyes met Archie’s again all flippancy drained, “But did you think I was dead.”

Archie shot up off the bed and threw his book to the ground with a loud thump, “No! I fucking didn’t!” Jughead produced a visible flinch but pushed onwards.

“Well, that’s dumb.” Jughead rolled his eyes and turned back to his book causally 

Archie was still standing dramatically in the middle of the room. His mouth dropped open. “What…?”

Jughead turned back and continued, “Whores don’t live that long. Most people don’t make it out. I mean, like, a bunch of people I knew are dead or probably are by now.” He gave his speech like it was common knowledge, blasé if not annoyed at the obviousness of it all. 

“Live that long...dead by now…,” Archie stuttered, “what the hell are you talking about, dude.”

“I’m just saying I should be dead now.” Jughead replied angrily. He gripped the top of the chair so hard his knuckles turned white. “I don’t know why you would think that. Seriously, I…” he started a sarcastic laugh but was interrupted by Archie.

With Jughead’s words being few and far in between recently Archie couldn’t imagine interrupting a single word out of his friend’s mouth but this lit a fire under his ass. “Because you called me!” he yelled.

Jughead’s face fell completely and he looked deflated instantly. 

“You called the house phone a few months ago, right? It was a Tuesday night, I’ll never forget. I was up here in my bedroom but I missed the phone by a damn second.” Archie looked just as deflated as Jughead now. “Then the voicemail was just...noise.” They both cringed. 

With tears in his eyes Archie continued, “I’ll never forget that you called me. And we begged, begged, the police to try to trace the call but they wouldn’t do it. After you called me I knew you were out there, Jug. You couldn’t be...be…” 

“No Archie. I shouldn’t have called you. I put you in danger. Those people...if they had your number…" He shook his head,"which just goes to show I shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up like that." 

“Not get me hopes up? Why not?” Archie’s voice shook. “You were always out there. And now you’re home.”

“I shouldn’t be alive. I should have died.” Jughead said as if trying to convince himself now. Archie sat down on the ground leaning against his bed but just below Jughead sitting at the desk. He tried desperately to meet his eye.

“Stop saying that,” he sobbed, “None of that shit should have happened to you. You didn't deserve it. No one deserves it. Least of all you.”

“But it happened. And it broke me. I’m not the same person I was before. That person is dead but here I am.” Jughead responded resolutely.

“What happened to you? That night. What happened then?” Archie whined. He knew there was so much he didn’t know. Things he probably didn’t want to know. He had been told not to push boundaries, to not go looking for stories. Archie couldn’t help it. He had to know. He needed to understand. 

At that moment, Jughead was unexpectedly forthcoming “I knew I needed help. I thought maybe someone back in Riverdale could come get me or something.” said with a sad laugh. “I plotted for weeks to get my hand on a phone. Then finally everything lined up and I grabbed some shitty burner phone laying around.”

“I had only a few seconds to decide to go for it that night. Your number was the first I thought of. Dad never picked up the phone when he was drinking,” Jughead continued sadly, “I couldn’t call the cops either. I knew they wouldn’t help me”

Archie wanted to interrupt and get the stories behind the story. He held himself back.

“But it didn’t matter that you didn't pick up, Archie. I hadn’t planned that far. There was nothing I could have said that would have helped. I didn’t know where we were though, honestly. It was just another run down motel for the night.” Jughead said detachedly. Jughead looked down and stared right through Archie with a far away look in his eye.

His voice became small but continued. “They were back so fast anyway. I had to smash the phone to stop them from getting your number. Because they could’ve used it to hurt you. Hurt me.” 

“They were so fucking angry with me. It went against everything they taught me not to do. I didn’t eat for days. Beat the shit out of me then threw me out of a car as punishment, too. I think that’s when I fucked up my leg. That night was just another nail in my coffin”

“But Juggie, that was months ago. How could they do that to you?” Archie countered desperately eyeing his still healing injury.

“I wasn't exactly on vacation and I could still walk.” he excused quickly. 

"But you're you. You like old scary movies, and cheeseburgers and... and you're sarcastic and clever. You invented a superhero comic series once when we were kids. How could they do that to you, Jug?" Archie begged as if there was a rational answer.

"That wasn't me. I mean, they didn't see me. All they saw was a body that they could use and humiliate and and...” Jughead was starting to lose control of his breath and began descending into a panic attack. His memories were starting to overwhelm the reality in front of him. 

Archie slipped his hand into Jughead's and gave a gentle squeeze. "Jughead, breathe with me." 

"Breathe in…" 

"Breathe out…"

"Breathe in…" 

"Breathe out…"

"Breathe in…" 

"Breathe out…"

The two boys sat together breathing until the panic passed.

"Arch, I'm really sorry..." Jughead stuttered. 

"Jug. You're my best friend. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you." 

"I've been trying so hard to leave this all behind. There were so many days I thought he was gonna kill me." Jughead subconsciously rubbed the hidden tattoo on his chest. "Some days it felt like he did... like every person who put their hands on me killed me over and over again every single day.”

“But then again I thought I was gonna die, that I was dying, so many times and that feeling lives inside my chest and in my brain all the time still. Now that I'm back here...now that I’m back I can hardly believe it. I'd think I died and went to heaven if it wasn't for this feeling living inside me. God, I sound like a crazy person" 

"No dude, I know that feeling too. Not exactly the same but like when my Dad got shot. I was always ready for the Black Hood to come back to finish us off. You know how many nights I spent sitting by the front door with a fucking bat.” It was Archie’s turn to laugh sadly. 

“I was on edge for weeks. Eventually I was hoping he’d come back for me to end it, just so I could stop worrying about it.”

“Then when someone did come and shoot my Dad on Riot Night. But he was wearing a bulletproof vest. I still could barely cope with it. I can’t even imagine if it happened any sooner or...or every day. I would have fallen apart.” Archie felt relieved to confide in his best friend again. They had drifted apart slowly Freshman year then catastrophically that summer with the missed road trip. Bridges were slowly mended but literal murder and mayhem kept them apart. 

"Does it ever stop?" Jughead asked helplessly. 

"Not completely," Archie frowned, "It's a lot smaller than it used to be though. Most days I don't even think about it at all. But occasionally when there’s a bang," he shivered at the thought of it, "it comes back to me a little."

"You'll get there too, Jug. And better. I know you will. " Archie added optimistically. 

“What if I don’t? What if they were right and this is all I’ll ever be anymore?” He whispered.

“I’ll never ever give up on you.” Archie said confidently. He smirked recalling a time not too long ago when he “bro whispered” a similar sentiment to Jughead in his bedroom. 

Archie added with a smile, “C’mon, man, let me take you to Pop’s and I’ll show you. We can slam the door and everything.”

Jughead threaded with his fingers through his dark hair, exhaled deeply, and quirked his signature sardonic smile down at his best friend. “Okay. Let’s go to Pop’s. But you’re buying.”

“I don't think Pop is gonna let us pay for anything.” Archie jumped up and handed Jughead his crutches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is all. probably forever. I really tried to imagine a place to try to take this story and couldn't find one. lmk if there was something you would have wanted to see, I guess. maybe you'll spark my inspiration. maybe this story is better off done. 
> 
> I'm really thinking about deleting this story. I hope the whole thing hasn't been too cringey. I've tried writing some things that aren't as heavy. Those might go up on the a03 someday. But idk 
> 
> I've got a lot to learn about writing. After this experience I truly am in awe of some of the writers on this site.

**Author's Note:**

> After many years (over a decade) reading ffn I wrote one. I have so much more respect for my favorite authors now. I made shit up and I tried my best (kind of) here. I know I crammed a lot of heavy shit into this little fic. Would love suggestions on how I could expand on the moments. 
> 
> I'm not a really editor and don't know much about grammar. Lmk if there's shit that makes no sense. I'd love to grow as a ffn author, I guess. There's probably more to say here.
> 
> Sorry to Jughead Jones.


End file.
